HO CHI MINH'S BODY

Vietnamese children play in front of Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum

There’s a light rain as I arrive at the entrance to this revered site. What I’m about to see is the pride of Vietnam. There’s no admission fee to get in either; it’s open for all to see. Hundreds of people have arrived here before me, and I find my way to the back of a long line, as everyone queues for entry.

Entering a security tent, a security guard asks me, “Camera or mobile phone?” I shake my head, and pass through a metal detector. A nearby sign lists the rules for entry. As usual, the English translation is less than perfect. One rule states, “Don’t bring in gold, weapon, germstone, poison”.

Leaving the tent, the queue moves surprisingly fast. I look around at the rest of the crowd, and except for a western couple everyone else is Vietnamese. None are wearing traditional Vietnamese clothing however, all are wearing western style clothes.

Near to our queue, three lines of preschoolers shuffle along on their way to the entrance. Their teachers herd them forward, with each child holding the back of the shirt of the child in front of them. As they stop and start, they resemble a cute, long accordian of children. As the cute kids pass a guard, his somber face cracks into a rare smile. Like the other guards, he wears an all white military uniform, an elite soldier of the People’s Army of Vietnam. 

Ho in 1946 (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

As we round a corner, I see our destination, a dark imposing edifice. The architecture resembles the style of the ancient Greeks or Romans, except that the columns are square. Constructed in the 1970’s, this hallowed building was built with the aid of the Soviet Union. Passing flowered wreaths and more armed sentries, we enter the stone building. The interior is all marble, and the line continues up a stairwell, covered with red rubber mats to protect the visitors from floors made slick by the rain. I follow the crowd to an upper level, walk through thick wooden doors, and suddenly everyone is silent.

There he is, lying in a glass case.

Ho Chi Minh.

My first thought on seeing the dead body of this man, is that his skin looks so white. He has a yellowish light shining down on him, but still, he looks so unnaturally white. He’s dressed in a dark blue outfit, like the kind he used to wear to official communist party functions. His trademark goatee beard, is combed neatly down under his chin.

When this man was alive, he was so many things, to so many people. He was famous, and infamous. Loved, and despised.

To most Vietnamese, he was a patriot. Nationalist. Communist. Leader. He was the founder of the Vietnamese Communist Party, and President of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. He led the fight against the French, then the Japanese, then the Americans. He was Vietnam’s 20th century godfather.

To the French and Americans, he was more than an ardent communist. He was a rebel, a revolutionary. This one man was able to cause so much trouble to the USA, the world’s greatest superpower, and to the French colonials who dominated Vietnam long before them. He was America’s greatest enemy of the 1960’s, and even with all of their military might from land, sea and air, he was the man that they just couldn’t defeat.

And yet, he looks so short. Like most Asians he’s small in stature, but he made up for it with boundless determination, and total dedication to his cause. Ho never married; he dedicated his life to kicking the foreigners out of Vietnam and reuniting his country. Ho and his glass case are protected by four motionless honor guards. The glass surrounding him is so clean and spotless, that it appears as though there's no glass surrounding him at all. Behind him on the wall, are two long red banners, bearing the gold star from Vietnam’s flag, and the communist hammer and sickle. That’s fitting, since Vietnam and communism were Ho’s two greatest loves.

This tank in a Hanoi museum, crashed the Saigon palace gate to end the war. Ho didn't live to see it.

Frozen in time since his 1969 death, he looks older, than does in all of those old photos and propaganda films. But then again, when Ho finally died he was 79 years old. I look on this old motionless face, that still adorns this country’s paper currency. To most Vietnamese, he is their version of George Washington. 

Ho Chi Minh means ‘bringer of light’, and this was only one of countless pseudonyms he adopted over the years, to keep him from being arrested by the French. As an educated man he spoke French fluently, along with some Chinese, Russian, and even English that he picked up during his brief stint working in the USA. Back when he was an unknown, nobody could have imagined that this short Asian man that worked as a baker in New York, would later lead his country against America in what would become one of America's longest wars. While Ho lived in the USA, he learned more than just baking. In America, he found a country that had forced out an occupying colonial power, a feat that he later hoped to duplicate.

Years later when Vietnam declared its independence in 1945, Ho included these memorable words in his speech to Hanoi’s masses, “All men are created equal. They are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” As part of his announcement of an independent Vietnam, Ho plagiarized part of the text of the American Declaration of Independence. Ho was also happy to receive weapons from America used to fight the Japanese during WW II, but that was before the cold war. Ho didn’t turn against Americans until later, when the US began supporting the French colonials. 

Ho with sailors from East Germany (Source: German archives)

With the hero of Vietnam’s body on display, I wonder what the preschool children think of seeing Ho like this. When I was their age I'd never even been to a funeral yet. I wonder if it's proper to have children view a dead body at such a young age.

Ho didn’t intend for his body to end up like this. It’s said that he wanted to be cremated, but the communists who replaced him had different ideas. Just like the Russians did with Lenin’s body, and the Chinese did with Mao’s body, the Vietnamese built a grand mausoleum, and put his preserved corpse here on display. It’s like a state funeral that never ends.

Rumors abound that Ho’s actual body isn't even displayed anymore. The word is what I’m seeing now is only a wax dummy. Looking at his lifeless face, it’s hard to tell. Photos aren't allowed inside, and visitors are left to guess for themselves. Is it really him? Only Vietnam’s top brass and the morticians know for sure.

With the crowd gently pushing me from behind, the queue continues forward quietly. Before I know it, I’m out of the room, and soon I’m out of the building. Looking around, I see Vietnam’s adoration of Ho isn’t limited to his mausoleum. As part of their enduring cult of personality for Ho, next door they built a Ho Chi Minh Museum. It’s a big imposing structure, much larger than the Ho Chi Minh Museum I already saw in Saigon, (or should I say, Ho Chi Minh City.) Making for a bit of overkill, there’s another Ho Chi Minh Museum in Danang, still another in Pleiku, and so on. Perhaps due to hero worship or misplaced patriotism, the government decided to have multiple museums across the country dedicated to old Uncle Ho. Attendance at those museums is sparse, unlike the long lines of people who came to see Ho’s body today. 

 Later after leaving the complex, I catch a taxi and return to Hanoi's Old Town. Upon telling a Vietnamese friend that I went to see the mausoleum, she asks me, “Did you say hello to my Uncle Ho?"

“Yeah,” I answer, “but he didn’t say anything back to me.”

'HANOI HILTON' PRISON AND SENATOR MCCAIN

Entrance to Hoa Lo Prison, aka 'The Hanoi Hilton'

Future Senator McCain, as a young prisoner of war (Source: Hoa Lo Museum)

I’m heading down Hai Ba Trung, one of Hanoi’s busy downtown streets. Motorbikes and buses buzz by, until I turn on a quiet side street, finding a walled old colonial complex. Reaching the gate, a French arch over double doors reads, ‘Maison Centrale’. This entrance gate is misleadingly pleasant in appearance.

Upon passing inside, I find forbidding hallways, and dark rooms with steel doors. Electric fencing across the rooftop gives away the purpose of this place. This wasn’t just any little 'maison', this was a prison! Located in downtown Hanoi, this is the infamous former prison known as Hoa Lo. It is better known in the US by the name that American Prisoners of War gave it: "The Hanoi Hilton'.

Dark cells in the prison's 'death row' - Hoa Lo Prison is now a museum

Within these dismal walls, hundreds of American POW’s were held captive, as the war dragged on for longer than anyone expected. Hoa Lo happens to be a prison where the Vietnam War’s most famous prisoner of war was held captive. That prisoner was a Navy pilot, by the name of Lt. John McCain.

Flying a bombing mission over Hanoi in 1967, McCain’s A-4 aircraft was struck by a missile. Ejecting as his jet spun downward, his helmet and oxygen mask were blown off. Both of his arms and a leg were broken. He landed in Hanoi’s Truc Bach Lake, and barely able to move from his injuries, he was pulled from the water by the Vietnamese. In a rage from the deadly air attacks, McCain was beaten, and stabbed with a bayonet.

Brought to a prison and left in a bare cell, McCain was denied medical treatment. He nearly died. Then the

Old aerial view of Hoa Lo Prison (Source: Hoa Lo Museum)

Vietnamese military learned that his father was a Navy admiral. Deciding  that McCain was more valuable to them alive then dead, they finally gave him medical treatment. They hoped to use him for propaganda purposes. This didn’t stop them from mistreating him later, and during the next 5 1/2 years, he was tortured and beaten numerous times. Years later when became a US Senator, he spoke up repeatedly against the use of torture, since he had survived it himself in this prison.

French colonials imprisoned the Vietnamese in leg restraints

Hoa Lo prison was originally built by the French back in 1896. During colonial years the inmates here were Vietnamese revolutionaries and criminals. As bad as it was during the American years, conditions were even worse when it was a French prison. Originally built to hold less than 500 inmates, it was later packed to hold nearly 2,000.

Entering a long, open prison room, I learn how French guards dealt with the problem of overcrowding. On both sides of the room are long wooden platforms, where Vietnamese prisoners were lined up one after the other. Running lengthwise on these platforms are leg stocks, and the prisoners were restrained with one, or both of their feet locked inside. This way they were forced to either sit, or lay down in one spot for nearly the entire day. Since the prison is now a museum, emaciated dummies have been placed in the stocks to demonstrate the effect. It looks like something out of a cruel, 19th century slave ship.     

Depiction of French torturing Vietnamese in the prison

 
Most of the Hoa Lo museum is dedicated to Vietnamese prisoners who fought the French, and for some Vietnamese inmates, their punishment here was final. Entering another grim room, I come upon a guillotine. This isn’t some side show reproduction either, this instrument of death is genuine. Invented during the terrors of the French revolution, the colonials brought the guillotine to Vietnam, and it was used in this prison to execute murderers and revolutionaries. Down a dark adjacent hall, depressing brick prison cells make up the section which was Hanoi’s death row.

Stepping into an inner courtyard, I happen upon a bas relief depicting the torture of Vietnamese prisoners here. After North Vietnam won its independence from France in 1954, the communists took over Hoa Lo. A decade later, the Vietnamese would use some of those same torture techniques that had been inflicted on them, on American prisoners held here. There is no bas relief depicting that.

Heading for a corner of the prison, I find the smallest cells of all. I open the creaky steel door, and look inside. Small, dark and empty, the cell is

Conditions were inhumane in these cells for solitary confinement

totally without furniture. With very little light, it is practically a dungeon. These were for solitary confinement, and the shutters were usually kept closed in the summer, making the heat stifling. For the Vietnamese, and the Americans who languished here, these cells were despair at its worst.

As if these cells weren’t bad enough, the communists occasionally restrained McCain and other prisoners here by their feet. Just inside the door is the room’s only feature; metal leg irons on the floor. When prisoners were locked into these, conditions were filthy, since prisoners had no choice but to relieve themselves where they sat. The concrete floor is relatively clean now, but at prison camps across Vietnam, American POWs were often not allowed to bathe for days or weeks at a time.

Most of the museum is dedicated to Vietnamese who suffered here, but two rooms have displays on American prisoners. As usual, their propaganda claims that the Americans were treated well here, and any mistreatment of POWs is completely omitted.

There are some intriguing photos here. An old black and white propaganda photo shows Vietnamese troops parading American POWs through Hanoi streets, while citizens look on. I wonder if Vietnamese even realize today, that parading around war prisoners is a violation of the Geneva Conventions.

Upon one wall, is a photo of the prisoner who almost became President of the United States: young Lieutenant John McCain. I have to hand it to McCain, he could have very easily died here in captivity, but he looks strong in this picture. If they were attempting to get McCain’s photo to look like a gloomy mugshot, they failed completely. Blonde and unshaven, he looks serious, even defiant. He looks more like a college linebacker than a prisoner. A display case contains what it claims is McCain’s flight suit, but this is unproven with the name patch removed.

Leaving the prison, I return to the same neighborhood on a later day. Entering an impressive high rise, I find a modern café on the ground floor. Buying a juice, I grab a seat, and take advantage of their free internet. Out in the lobby, a pair of pretty Vietnamese ladies hand out fliers to promote cell phones. Men wearing suits and ties catch the elevator, on their way to business meetings. It’s a picture of thriving capitalism, and it all happens to be located on land that was once part of the Hoa Lo prison.

As capitalism in Vietnam took off in the 1990’s, the government realized that this big former prison was located on very valuable downtown land. So the majority of the prison was torn down, and two modern buildings named the ‘Hanoi Towers’ were constructed in their place. Only one wing of the former Hoa Lo prison still remains, and it’s now the museum.

Ex-POW Capt Peterson later became ambassador to Vietnam!

Where once there were old brick cells and prison turf, there is now a towering building full of office space and retail. It doesn’t seem possible, but on the very same land where John McCain’s dirty prison cell once stood, you can now rent a serviced apartment in a 25 story building, starting at  $3000 per month! It’s an outrageous price for such a poor country, but at least it’s progress. To replace a dark, dilapidated old prison with two new commercial buildings, makes for excellent progress anywhere.

More important than what happened to those prison buildings, is what happened to the men who survived here. One of those POWs, Air Force Capt. Pete Peterson later joined the State Department. After diplomatic relations were re-established in the 1990s, this former prisoner of the Hanoi Hilton returned to Hanoi. He was America’s first Ambassador to the Socialist Republic of Vietnam.

For John McCain, it may have been the twisted turn of events and injuries that he survived in Hanoi, that brought him to politics. If his high speed ejection and subsequent abuse had not caused him permanent injuries, he may have remained a naval officer for life like his father before him. But since he could no longer be a pilot and was left partially disabled, McCain later left the Navy and entered politics where he remains today. Despite the torture and mistreatment he endured here, McCain has admirably not held a grudge against Vietnam. As a US Senator, he supported improved relations, and he voted in favor of normalizing diplomatic relations with Vietnam.

Over the years Senator McCain returned to Vietnam repeatedly, and these days, he advocates improved military relations. He most recently returned in 2009, when he again toured the Hoa Lo prison, accompanied by two other US Senators. Before leaving the place where he almost lost his life, he signed the museum’s guestbook. His message: “Best wishes.”

 

Old prison in foreground, new high rise beyond

Young ladies promote mobile phones on former prison property, now a commercial center

THE BOMBER IN THE LAKE

Twisted wreckage of a US B-52 bomber in a Hanoi lake

“Your driver here,” my hotel clerk says. She's arranged my taxi today, since I’m looking for Huu Tiep Lake in Hanoi. Looking at my taxi, I find it’s a xe om, a motorbike taxi. There are plenty of auto taxis in Hanoi, but for some reason the clerk called a motorbike for this trip.

I grudgingly put on my helmet, and we’re off into Hanoi's crowded downtown streets. My driver doesn’t speak English, and as we motor on, he stops more than once to ask for directions. Apparently the little lake I’m seeking isn’t so well known. I grow impatient, as he doubles back to turn down a crowded alley. After several tight turns the alley narrows; we just miss hitting a pedestrian. Now I know why the hotel clerk didn’t get me a car. These alleys are so narrow, that only motorcycles and pedestrians can enter.

My driver finally pulls out between two apartment buildings, and there is Huu Tiep Lake before me, a small the lake surrounded by a crowded residential neighborhood.  As I dismount, children are walking out the front gate of a primary school. At one corner of the lake, a group of Vietnamese men are playing cards, while they smoke and lounge on plastic chairs.

It’s a quiet everyday scene, in a quiet Hanoi neighborhood. But one visible feature is out of place, and it’s out in the lake. Rising out of the greenish waters of Huu Tiep, clearly visible above the waterline, is the twisted wreckage from an enormous American jet.

Close up of the wreckage in Huu Tiep Lake

A nearby marker explains, “AT 23.05 ON DECEMBER 27TH 1972, THE BATTALION No 72 – AIR DEFENCE MISSILE REGIMENT No 285 SHOT DOWN ON THE SPOT A B52G OF THE US IMPERIALIST VIOLATING HA NOI AIRSPACE. A PART OF THE WRECKAGE FELL IN TO HUU TIEP LAKE”.

One can only imagine what it was like that evening. The city sirens went off as the air raid began, and everyone in Hanoi ran for shelter. They heard distant explosions, as the bombers found their targets. Then out of nowhere, this ton of wreckage dropped down out of the night sky, and crashed right into their tiny neighborhood lake.

Only part of the lower fuselage of the B-52 protrudes above the water line. I wonder, how much more lies beneath? Looking at this twisted wreckage raises so many questions. What happened to the Air Force crew aboard that night, and how many survived? What was their target in Hanoi, and were there any civilian casualties? This is only one section of the huge bomber, what happened to the rest? Since it broke apart in mid-air, other sections must have fallen onto Hanoi as well. Did any wreckage land on any houses?

Among the wreckage peeking above the lake water, are wheels from the bomber’s landing gear. These have been lying half submerged in the lake for so many years, that weeds are now growing out of the sides of the tires. The Vietnamese were so proud of having knocked this giant bomber down from over their skies, that they have left this section of twisted aircraft lying here in the lake ever since, as a kind of strange war trophy from those dangerous days. This lake even has a local nickname, 'Hồ B52', which translates as 'B-52 Lake'.

Wreckage from numerous downed US aircraft are piled together in a bizarre display in Hanoi

The American air assault on North Vietnam was first unleashed in 1964 as the US war began here. This continued until 1968, when the bombing was finally halted by President Johnson. Hanoi’s skies were then quiet for three and a half years, until they got pounded again in 1972. President Nixon resumed aerial bombing as a political weapon, hoping to pressure the communist leadership at the negotiating table. Hanoi was hit again and again, as Nixon tried to force the North Vietnamese communists to end the war. This was cynically known as, ‘Bombing for Peace’.

Although the bomber wreckage in Huu Tiep Lake is a grim reminder of those many years of destruction, it certainly isn’t the only reminder to be found in this city. On another day I head to Hanoi’s Military History Museum, where I find wreckage that is even more jarring.

There the Vietnamese have taken a heavily damaged fuselage from an American cargo plane, and left it standing vertically on its nose. Leaning up against the plane, and surrounding it

USSR made surface to air missile, used to shoot down many US aircraft over North Vietnam

on the ground, is an enormous pile of aircraft wreckage and metal debris. These are the remains of countless American made aircraft, that were shot down all over North Vietnam. There are wrecked B-52 engines, wing sections, an US Air Force F-111 engine, a propeller from a French flown Hellcat, remnants of an F-4 jet, and much, much more. Millions of dollars of expensive military aircraft, have been reduced to debris.
 
US aircraft dominated the skies over Vietnam, and they were occasionally opposed in the air. North Vietnam had its own small air force, but since their aircraft were inferior in numbers and performance, they didn’t often challenge America’s more experienced pilots. To take down the US Air Force and US Navy jets, the North Vietnamese relied much more on ground based weapons supplied by the Soviet Union.

Positioned behind the memorial of twisted wreckage, are many of these Russian made anti-aircraft guns that the NVA used to shoot down numerous US aircraft. The grand daddy of them all is

Logo on US aircraft wreckage in Hanoi's Military History Museum

also represented: a rusty Russian made surface to air missile and launcher, (aka SAM) is still aimed at the sky. SAM’s were what American pilots feared the most. These ‘flying telephone poles’ had such range, that they were even able to take out the high flying B-52s, like the one I saw lying in Huu Tiep Lake. You would think that the Vietnamese would give some credit to their Soviet patrons, who gave them the high tech SAM missiles in the first place. But there's no mention of their appreciation here.

Alongside the missile, other smaller anti-craft guns are on display, along with plaques that boast of how many aircraft each armament shot down. One gun alone lists the dubious claim that it shot down a total of 124 US aircraft. Although that figure isn’t likely to be true for a single weapon, American air losses during the long war in Vietnam were indeed costly. Between 1964 – 1973, more than 3,000 jets and planes were lost over Vietnam. An additional 4,000 helicopters were also

B-52 wreckage and disarmed bombs in a Hanoi park

destroyed. I wonder how many lives, and how billions of dollars, were destroyed this way.

In Vietnam, the USA had the world’s best fighter jets, bombers and helicopters, but even these were not able to bring about victory through air power. 

To be sure, America could have easily destroyed all of Hanoi with just one well placed nuclear bomb, but the war in Vietnam was a limited war. Using nuclear weapons would have caused not only massive civilian casualties, but it may have brought retaliation by the Soviets, or the Chinese. Then this limited war in Southeast Asia could have easily escalated into World War III.

The American people learned in Vietnam, that being a superpower does have its limits. 

OLD TOWN HANOI STROLL

Lady fruit sellers wait for customers in Old Town Hanoi

As morning comes in Hanoi, I am rudely awakened at 5 a.m. by a government loudspeaker. It's blaring out their daily propaganda wakeup message. Unfortunately for me, the speaker happens to be located right outside my hotel window. I groan, cover my ears, and try to go back to sleep. I later go down to reception, and switch my room to the back of the hotel so I can be further away from the morning noise. But now I have the opposite problem, the hotel’s back rooms have no windows at all! It’s more of a cave really, it's certainly a fire hazard. Well, at least it’s quiet.

After finding some croissants in a nearby café, I head out for a walk around the city’s old quarter. Hanoi is a city that's 1,000 years old. Although this ancient commercial neighborhood is limited by narrow streets, the business scene here is really bustling. Asian style shophouses are packed tightly together, selling all manner of local and imported goods. Everyone I see in the old town is busy browsing, buying, or trying to make a sale. Street vendors in conical hats sell fresh fruit, while the ever present motorbikes buzz on by.

French colonial architecture in Old Town

Old archway entrance in Hanoi

Crossing many streets in the packed borough, I learn that each road in this area has a product specialty. One street has numerous silk shops, another street is packed with shoe stores, and still another is packed with hair accessories. It seems a counterproductive arrangement for shopkeepers to have their competition all on the same street, but it works in Hanoi, as it has here for centuries.

The Presidential Palace, former home of the French colonial governor.

Following the free market reforms of their Chinese neighbors to the north, capitalism has taken hold in this capital city. But even though this city is Vietnam’s second largest, I notice the pace is different. Looking around the shops, it’s not as noisy and hectic here, as it is in Saigon/HCMC. As compared to the hardworking, dollar chasing southerners, business in the north is conducted in a more restrained fashion. Hanoi has always been more reserved than Saigon, and they endured communist controlled markets far longer than in the south did. As things are now, Saigon may be the center of finance, but Hanoi is still the center of political power.

As I leave the old quarter and explore other areas of the downtown, I find that many of the old French colonial buildings still survive. Close to Hoan Kiem Lake, there are the majestic Opera House, many old restaurants and lovely French villas. Some government offices in Hanoi still work out of old yellow colonial buildings from the French era. The Presidential Palace is immaculate, and

Italian restaurant in Old Town. International eateries are becoming more popular.

looks as though the French governor has just walked out the door. There are far more examples of colonial architecture remaining here, than there are in Saigon, and even pre-colonial Chinese style homes can still be found. This isn’t what I was expecting at all, I'm pleasantly surprised.

Since Hanoi had been bombed so many times during the war with the US, I was imagining that the old city must have been reduced to rubble back then, like Berlin during World War II. I was expecting to find blase communist blocks; I’m surprised to see that so many of Hanoi's old historic buildings have survived. These lovely old neighborhoods give Hanoi a romantic air, a sense of history that is hard to find elsewhere in Vietnam.

GIANT TURTLE OF HOAN KIEM: FACT OR FICTION?

Hoan Kiem Lake is popular with couples. The flag marks Ngoc Son Temple.

Hoan Kiem is a lake in the very heart of Hanoi, part of the city's old quarter. I’m out for a morning walk by the lake, and it looks like a great day ahead of me. This is a wonderful time of the day to walk in Hanoi, traffic is still light, and I’m certainly not alone. In the cool of the morning, there are many other Vietnamese people circling the lake with me. Some are walking, some practice tai chi, and others do light calesthenics. I notice that most of the people around me are over 40, and they are all wearing western clothes, t-shirts and outfits for working out. This is a rare time that I’ve seen the conservative Vietnamese wearing shorts in public.

Local ladies practice a dance routine by the lake's shore

Flowers by the lake, with 'Turtle Tower' in the background

Locals by the lake, with bridge to the temple beyond

Many women’s groups also enjoy exercising here. I walk past one group of 30 or so Vietnamese ladies doing light aerobics to traditional music. Further along, another small group of ladies practice a dance routine, holding red Asian fans. Still another group works out with swords. I’ve never seen women swinging swords around before, so I pause to watch. It all looks rather dangerous, until they finish. That’s when they take their weapons, and by pushing downward at the point of the swords, they collapse. Their swords are telescopic, and could never be used to stab anyone.

I continue on smiling, as I pass a last group of older ladies dancing to a light routine, while each woman holds a small Vietnamese flag. The song on their boom box is an old Doris Day favorite, "Que Sera, Sera". I wonder, do these ladies even understand the words?

This placid lake I’m walking around isn’t just a place of exercise, it’s also a place of legends. A curious, well known legend in Hanoi, is that of the giant turtle of Hoan Kiem Lake. As the story goes, King Le Loi was out in a small boat on this lake in the 15th century. He carried with him a magical sword that he had used to defeat the occupying Chinese. A giant magical turtle appeared next to his boat, and took the sword into his mouth. The huge turtle then disappeared into the lake waters, returning the sword to its divine origin.

Thus the lake got its name. Hoan Kiem means, ‘restored sword’. As legends go, this one certainly has it’s doubters, especially with the bit about the giant turtle. The Vietnamese claim that this huge amphibian is still occasionally seen in the lake today, and that if you see the turtle, you will have good luck. It seems that Hanoi has something like a Vietnamese version of the mythical Loch Ness Monster.

Foreigners who live in Hanoi don’t believe the story, and many have their own theories about the legend, and the recurring sightings of the giant lake dweller. A western expat in a bar, claimed that in order to keep the legend alive, Vietnamese frogmen occasionally swim in the lake sporting a fake turtle shell on their back.

I look at Hoan Kiem, and it’s easy to have doubts. This lake is so small, and so polluted. Since it’s located downtown, the lake doesn’t even have a natural bank anymore, the lake shore is covered with bricks to prevent erosion. I doubt the frogman story, but this lake doesn’t even appear to be able to sustain live fish, let alone a giant turtle.

Hoan Kiem has a couple of small islands, and later I cross the Rising Sun Bridge to reach the larger island, home of the Ngoc Son Temple. This resembles other small Buddhist temples I’ve seen, until I spot a display case outside. Incredibly, it holds a stuffed, giant turtle. About six feet long, it was reportedly found in the lake in 1967. I didn’t think that turtles that large could exist in modern times, it looks like something out of a dinosaur movie. 

I look closely at the old amphibian; it’s untouchable behind that thick glass. Is it really genuine? It appears so. Anyway, I doubt that someone would go to the extent of building a faked taxidermist's turtle, to try and keep alive an old legend.

I imagine that Hoan Kiem's turtles must be all gone now, since the lake is polluted even worse nowadays, then it was when this giant specimen turned up. If there ever were turtles in Hoan Kiem to begin with, they’re probably all extinct by now.
Another day as I walk by the lake, I look out towards the other small island in Hoan Kiem. Even smaller than the island that has the Ngoc Son Temple, the only feature on this tiny island is a small stone pagoda, known as 'Turtle Tower'. I peer across the water, and today I notice something different. On the edge of the island facing me, there appear to be a number of rocks. I recall that they weren’t there before.

I think to myself, is it possible? Can it be? No, it can’t be! I race back to my room, and grab my heavy camera with a 300mm telephoto lens. Then I run back to the lake shore for a better look. I put the camera on full zoom, peer through the viewfinder, and there they are.

Turtles! Not one, not two, but three turtles, sitting on the island’s shoreline on a sunny day. Seeing is believing. There are still turtles living in Hoan Kiem, and I snap a few photos for proof. They weren’t giants by any means, but the largest turtle appeared to be almost two feet long. So, despite the doubters and the pollution, this little lake can support life.

Maybe there is something to that old Vietnamese legend after all. 

Turtles at lower right, on the island

Close-up of turtles on the island. They do exist!!

NIGHT TRAIN TO HANOI

Overnight train to Hanoi pulls into Danang Train Station

Russia has the Trans-Siberian Railway. Europe has the Orient Express. And Vietnam? They have the Reunification Express, and it’s my ticket to the north.

There is just something about train travel. It’s romantic really. There’s the anticipation everyone feels as they wait in the station. The train pulls in, horns blaring. Departing passengers pull luggage across the platform. Relatives have emotional goodbyes. Everyone loads up, climbing stairs into passenger cars. Everyone searches for their berth, and settles into a comfortable room. The locomotive whistles, the train lurches, and you’re on your way. I see all these steps as I begin my journey on the overnight train.

“Hey you,” says a brusque Vietnamese passenger. “Where you go? Hue?”

Vietnamese passengers say their goodbyes, and board the train

“No,” I answer, "Hanoi."

I’ve begun my trip by boarding the train in the coastal city of Danang. We stop in Hue before continuing north, across the old DeMilitarised Zone. There are later stops in Dong Hoi and Vinh, but I’m hoping I’ll be asleep by then. After a 14 hour journey, I should arrive in Hanoi in the early morning.

As the train slowly rolls out of Danang, I peer out the window, and see the Vietnamese version of a railroad crossing. They don’t have automatic crossing gates, here they use sliding red and white fences, which are pulled across manually by railway staff. At first, I just think this is an easy way to keep some government workers employed, as crossing guards. But then I recall the recklessness of Vietnamese motorbike drivers. This is probably a much safer way to keep them off of the tracks.

Our train has 13 passenger cars, plus the locomotive. As I’m settling into my room, I kick away a small roach as it’s about to take shelter in my luggage. Well, I wasn’t expecting first class accomodation. My room is a soft sleeper, meaning it has four beds. This is the best they have on the train, and it cost me all of 25 dollars. Most Vietnamese passengers are packed into the cheaper, hard sleeper rooms, meaning they have six beds packed in together.

The room’s interior has light blue walls, with bright red bunk beds. Thankfully, there’s air conditioning. The best part of all: there's a large window with a great view of the passing countryside. As we rumble along north of Danang, the scenery becomes stunning.

Our train chugs up the coast, giving us fantastic views of the South China Sea

It’s a good day for a train trip, the weather is clear and the train is on time. Soon we're up in the mountains; beyond I can see all the way down to the South China Sea coast. The slopes below us are blanketed with green foliage. For this stretch of the journey, I see no signs of civilization. There are only mountains, deserted beach, and the vast ocean. Far below, ocean waves wash over a platform of solid rock. As each wave crashes across the bedrock, it leaves a long blanket of white water behind. As I watch the surf, I’m instantly enveloped in darkness; we’ve entered a tunnel. There are a few tunnels along this section, as we make our way towards the Hai Van pass, which means ‘Pass of the Clouds’.

This railway was first built by the French way back in the 19^th century during the colonial era. As we head through the mountains, we pass an old abandoned French Army outpost, built to protect the short railroad trestle we're on. Back during the war years, the railroad was attacked and vandalized often by the various nationalist and communist groups. Trains were derailed numerous times.

But those days are gone now, and the trains have run peacefully for years. Continuing along the coast, railway staff bring around a snack cart, with coffee, soft drinks and beer. They also hand out a dinner menu. I order chicken and white rice, which arrives later in a styrofoam container. Even with the soy sauce provided, it’s pretty bland. I don’t know it yet, but I’ll be surprised with a far better dinner later on.

Abandoned military post once protected the railway

As my room has four beds, there are two other Vietnamese men sharing it with me. One is fashionably dressed, and is assigned to the bunk above me. He climbs on up, and soon is snoring quietly. The other portly passenger sits on the bunk across from me. He speaks a fair amount of English, and I discover that he works for the Vietnamese Railway I'm now riding. I’m fortunate to have a roommate who can tell me more about the Reunification Express, at least as far as what a government employee is allowed to tell a foreigner.

After a couple hours, we pull into the old capital of Hue. This was the end of the line back during the war years, since communist sabotage kept the trains from going any further north. Back in those days, the locomotives didn’t run in front. The engineers would push a flat car out in front of the locomotive, in order to trip mines or booby traps that may have been laid on the tracks.

As the train departs Hue, we are joined in our little cabin by an Australian. He’s a former finance man who just finished working in London. The Aussie decided to tour Vietnam on his way home.

As often happens on trains, I am quickly chatting away with my new cabin mates. It’s one of those times when the talk flows freely, and after a while I realize that nobody has gotten around to introducing themselves. Nobody knows anyone else’s name, but that doesn’t really matter. We're enjoying each other’s company, knowing that after arrival, we probably won’t see each other again. We joke and chat, pausing to admire the scenery out the window. All the while the train rumbles along, and time happily passes by.

The train's rather spartan bathroom facilities

Later I step out in the passageway for a look around, and I find that our toilets are rather spartan. They are the basic squatty-potty style which is so common in Asia. When the toilet is flushed, it seems to empty right out onto the train tracks below.

On my way back, I spot the neighbors. To one side are two rooms inhabited by a group of 50 somethings from New Zealand. They have water on the floor of one room, so they've all crowded into their second room next to ours. They are already having drinks. Our other neighbors are a couple of Russians, and a woman from Switzerland. They are a good deal quieter, since the Kiwis are making enough noise for everybody.

Stepping back in my room, the Aussie and I start questioning our Vietnamese rail expert, the Train Man. He’s worked repairing the rails for many years. He says the train’s top speed is 90 km per hour, but operationally it only goes about 70.

Old bomb craters are next to the train tracks near the old DeMilitarized Zone

He boasts to us that Japan is going to help Vietnam build a new high speed railway, and laughingly says that it will take about 20 years. With the slow pace of government projects in Vietnam, it may take even longer than that.

As the miles go by, and conversation drifts off, I start listening to the sound of the train itself. The rhythm and movements change as we chug along. The sounds below shift from a clackety-clack, to a whooshing noise, and then rises and lowers in pitch. If I listen to it for a while, it’s rather hypnotic. The train goes from a bumpy ride, to swaying from side to side, but its comfortable enough.

Leaving the mountains, we gradually descend down to the coast. Our picture window is filled with palm trees, and fishing villages with wooden boats. The skies darken, and rain starts. It occurs to me that

A 'hard sleeper' berth

since I’m not in a car or bus, I don’t have to worry about slick roads on this trip. As we approach the old DMZ, I see perfectly round little ponds, that are close to the train tracks. These are old bomb craters from the American war years, that later filled with water.

As we continue, Train Man tells us more about his past. He’s from a small village in Vietnam. He was a young teenager when the US war ended, so he didn’t have to fight in that conflict. However, he did have to fight in the next war, in Cambodia. He served with the Vietnamese Army there from 1981 – 1985, fighting the Khmer Rouge. He didn’t like it there at all.

“I went over there with five friends,” he told me. “Two came back.”

Train man tells us more about the railway. After the American war finished in 1975, the  north – south line was quickly repaired, and reopened in 1976. Given the enormous amount of destruction to the rail lines, that was a major accomplishment. Back then, the trains were far slower than they are now. When the full line started running again, it took 56 hours to travel from Saigon to Hanoi. Today, it’s down to 30 hours for the same trip.

Our other Vietnamese cabin mate doesn’t speak English, so Train Man translates for him. “He in Vietnam People’s Army. He along the Lao border. He General.”

Dinner fit for a king: a whole chicken, and vodka (served from a plastic bottle!)

He doesn’t quite look like a general to me though. He’s wearing civilian clothes, and appears to be in his low 40’s, which seems rather young for a general. Perhaps Train Man didn’t translate correctly. Still, he’s very well dressed. He must be an officer.

We arrive in Dong Hoi station, and Train Man disappears for a few minutes. He returns with a whole cooked chicken, and a bottle of Vietnamese vodka. He announces he’s going to share it with all of his cabin mates. What a perfect time for Vietnamese hospitality.

A small pop-up table is lifted between the bunkbeds, and a newspaper becomes our tablecloth. We don’t need a dining car tonight. As the kilometers pass by, the chicken is devoured by all, and the bottle of vodka is gradually emptied. It soon becomes apparent that the General has a low tolerance for

A stroll through the carriages, before bed

alcohol. He’s gone from being quiet, to a laughing machine.

The conversation shifts from the basic, to the bizarre. The Aussie asks Train Man, “Have you ever eaten dog?”

“Yes,” Train Man answers.

“You like eating dog?” he continues.

“Yes,” Train Man answers again.

“I would like to try eating dog,” the Aussie announces. I don’t mind trying new foods, but the thought of eating dog meat will never appeal to me.

I take a final walk between cars to stretch my legs, and return to the room as the night winds down. Before long, I kick off my shoes, and get ready for bed. Train Man is already stretched out, and the tipsy General is in his bunk above me. Unfolding my blanket, I lay down to sleep. Outside our window in the night, dark silhouettes of trees are flowing by.

I can hear the Kiwis still laughing next door. They’ll be partying for a while yet tonight. The Russians and the Swiss on the other side are silent. The sound of the train has changed now to a low, rolling rumble.

It’s been a great trip. I haven’t had many folks to chat with the past few days, so I’ve enjoyed the diverse company. The conditions aren’t world class, but I wasn’t expecting them to be. I would rather be here than in a five star hotel. I’ve shared the night with a group of new and interesting people, having a great time as the miles went by.

I’m feeling content. Sleep reaches me.

In the morning, I’m in Hanoi.